


Fractured Identities

by Writing_in_SIN



Category: Kamen Rider - All Media Types, Kamen Rider Ex-Aid
Genre: Dark, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Psychological Horror, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27297076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing_in_SIN/pseuds/Writing_in_SIN
Summary: I'm you,You're me,and we're a goddamn tragedy.
Relationships: Houjou Emu & Parad (Kamen Rider Ex-Aid), Houjou Emu/Parad
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	Fractured Identities

**Author's Note:**

> If you like, come scream at me on [Tumblr](https://writing-in-sin.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Writing_in_SIN)
> 
> ______
> 
> HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🦇🎭

* * *

_There's something wrong._

His head is filled with agonising silence ever since he woke up from the Tekken tournament, crowding out his thoughts as Emu moves through his days in a haze.

It's a constant feeling that's been haunting him.

Emu jumps at the slightest of sounds now, and his peers and teachers have learned to stay at a safe distance when they talk to him since he doesn't like being touched and is prone to explosive swearing or panicked yelps accompanied with hard punches when approached by too sudden movements.

Disoriented, every breath feels like a chore to him and his limbs keep weighing him down until his knees finally give out under him at homeroom one morning and Emu collapses onto the floor like a marionette that had its strings cut.

Emu wakes up in a hospital bed.

He doesn't know how many days he spends staring at the sterile ceiling with people flitting around and about as they take care of him but their concern is foreign and almost suffocating. Emu wants to move, wants to object at their presence, because none of them _understands_.

Everything hurts and he's numb even as exhaustion seeps into the very marrow of his bones that's only outweighed by the raw pain in his chest— as if someone had hollowed out his insides and torn out his heart.

The doctors and nurses try to talk to him, he thinks, but Emu can't hear them very well.

...He's so _tired._

Yet, sleep alludes him as he's constantly haunted by nightmares.

He always finds himself on an operating table surrounded by faceless surgeons with strange tools in their hands and cold metal under him as he's ripped opened and apart until there's only a hollow cavity at where his Heart is supposed to be.

Everywhere, everywhere, so much pain, everywhere.

And laughter.

It would ring in his ears; dark, familiar, aching laughter coupled with the continuous, agonized bloodcurdling scream.

It's not until he's clawing at this own chest and hands are pinning him down onto the bed that Emu realizes he's the one who's screaming.

*  
He tries and, ultimately fails to stay sane.  
*

When he's not screaming himself hoarse during the day, Emu tries to force the persisting heartache and paranoia away in the dead hours of the night. And yet, they always seem to increase in magnitude when he tries to suppress the emotions, until they bloom, dark and lush in his head, and he finds himself crying into his pillow, sobbing so hard for something _—_ _someone_ that he doesn't know until he almost chokes on his own tears.

*  
Sanity trickles back eventually, and the first thing he does is to jump out of the window because _Emu needs to find **him**_ —  
*

He's standing on a platform at the train station nearby the hospital.

It's the morning rush hour and Emu waits for the train behind the yellow line barefooted and in his hospital gown, ignoring the stares and the whispers. His fingers twitch, blinking at his reflection on a passing train and almost doesn't recognise himself from how pale and sickly he looks.

Emu continues to stare, gaze blank and unseeing.

Between one blink and the next, he notices an oddly dressed boy around his age sitting on a bench by the platform across from him. He can't make out the other's expression because of the curls obscuring his face but Emu's sure the teen's looking right at him. Suddenly, the boy gets up from the bench and skips toward the tracks.

A train passes by, and the curly haired boy vanishes _—_

_There's something wrong with me._

A pair of hands suddenly cover his eyes as a dark and playful voice singsongs into his ear. "Guess who~?"

For the first time in ages, poisoned warmth floods his numbed heart. It hammers inside his ribcage and, Emu feels both sick and relieved at the (un)familiar electrifying presence draping over him like a lost lover.

"I..." His tongue unsticks from the roof of his mouth as he leans back against a broad chest. "...don't know."

Laughter rings out, unhinged and comforting as fingers spread out slowly in a dangerous caress and a mouth kisses his ear before the voice asks again. "Guess who, M~?"

Emu chuckles, pixels dancing across his vision as another train passes by and he sees through the gaps of long fingers in the reflection of the train's windows, that the curly haired teen is the one covering his eyes.

Despite the fact that he really thinks he's never seen the other teen before in his life, the air of familiarity about him anchors Emu. Catching his gaze in their reflection, the boy smiles at him, revealing sharp fangs and an undecipherable glint in his crazed heterochromic eyes.

It's as if this familiar stranger is privy to a secret Emu doesn't yet know.

Nevertheless, he doesn't pay attention to much else as those hands slide down to curl around his neck until long fingers are pressed into the hollow of his throat while Emu does the same— reaching up with a crooked grin to wrap his fingers around a pale neck underneath the wide collar of a black coat until his fingers are digging into the boy's throat. Emu sees the teen mirroring the deranged grin he's wearing slashed across an (un)familiar face and mismatched eyes.

His grin widens at the sensation of his breath stuttering, lungs seizing up and heart suffocatingly full.

A flurry of pixels and the screech of trains as lights shatter overhead before the platform is plunged into pitch black darkness.

"You."

There's laughter.

"Me."

There's screaming.

Words form into a choked sob as he grins through the tears in a voice that's _his_ yet, very much—

"Guess who?"

— _**not.**_

_There's something wrong with us._


End file.
